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WHAT    IS    HISTORY? 


ADDRESS  OF 

PROFESSOR  E.  P.  CHEYNEY,  '83,  C., 

BEFORE  THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL. 

October  3,  1907. 


(Reprinted  from  the  ALUMNI  REGISTER,  University  of  Pennsylvania, 
Philadelphia,    November,    1007.) 


What   is    History? 

Address    of 

PROFESSOR  E.  P.  CHEYNEY,  '83  C. 

Before  the  Graduate  School.  October  3.  1907. 

What  is  history?  Let  us  go  to  the  Father  of  History  and 
ask  him.  Herodotus  introduces  his  work  by  saying,  "This  is  a 
publication  of  the  researches  of  Herodotus  of  Halicarnassus,  in 
order  that  the  actions  of  men  may  not  be  effaced  by  time,  nor  the 
great  and  wondrous  deeds  displayed  both  by  Greeks  and  barba- 
rians deprived  of  renown,  and  why  the  Greeks  and  barbarians 
waged  war  on  one  another." 

His  object,  that  is  to  say,  is  to  recount  the  actions  of  men 
and  the  causes  of  them.  It  is  true  that  the  actions  which  he  is 
to  recount  are  only  the  great  actions,  and  the  men  whose  deeds 
are  thought  worthy  of  notice  are  only  the  great  men.  All 
the  rest  of  mankind  with  all  their  doings  are  relegated  to  a 
dim  and  misty  obscurity.  Nevertheless,  the  main  idea  of  Hero- 
dotus is  clear.  He  does  not  want  a  good  story  to  be  lost  and 
forgotten,  therefore  he  will  tell  us  what  happened.  He  looks 
upon  history  simply  as  a  tale  of  the  doings  of  men. 

Other  Greek  and  later  historians  have  looked  upon  the 
matter  differently.  Thucydides  says,  "Perhaps  the  lack  of  won- 
derful stories  in  my  work  will  make  it  less  pleasing  to  my 
readers ;  but  it  will  be  enough  for  me  if  it  proves  to  be  useful  to 
those  who  want  to  have  a  clear  knowledge  of  the  past,  and 
thereby  of  that  which,  according  to  the  course  of  human  events, 
will  happen  again."  According  to  Thucydides,  therefore,  history 
is  not  merely  a  narrative,  it  should  be  useful^  Polybius,  like- 
wise,  criticizing  Herodotus,  says,  "It  is  not  enough  merely  to 
describe  the  course  of  events,  one  must  seek  to  understand  the 
why  and  the  wherefore  of  them,  in  order  to  draw  instruction 
therefrom."j^  German  historian  of  the  seventeenth  century  says, 
"History^Tsmat  which  teaches  the  reader  what  things  in  life  are 
useful  and  to  be  followed,  or  injurious  and  to  be  avoided."  A 
modern  English  historian  says,  "History  is  a  voice  forever 
sounding  across  the  centuries  the  law  of  right  and  wrong." 

i 


228262 


That  is  to  say,  history,  according  to  this  view  of  the  case,  is 
meant  to  instruct.  It  should  teach  some  lesson.  The  lesson  may 
be  a  political  one  or  a  moral  one  or  a  religious  one.  But  it  is 
always  history  with  a  purpose, — its  justification  is  ethical. 

Far  and  wide  through  historical  writing  can  be  found  this 
ideal.  Sometimes  it  is  consciously  and  strongly  held.  There  is  a 
work  in  eight  volumes  in  the  University  Library  with  the  title, 
"The  History  of  England  on  Christian  Principles."  Sometimes 
it  is  less  consciously  and  clearly  acknowledged,  and  yet  the  his- 
torian none  the  less  tells  his  story  under  its  influence.  Macaulay 
is  a  devotee  of  the  Whig  party  and  is  teaching  its  doctrines 
when  he  is  writing  his  history  of  the  seventeenth  century  as 
much  as  when  he  is  speaking  or  voting  in  Parliament  in  the 
nineteenth.  Froude  uses  his  history  of  England  to  teach  the 
evils  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  to  discredit  Anglican 
clericalism,  exactly  as  he  uses  any  of  his  other  forms  of  writing. 

The  moral  purpose  of  the  historian  often  appears  as  a 
patriotic  purpose.  Bancroft  wrote  his  history  in  such  a  way 
that  Americans  should  think  well  of  their  country,  much  as 
Gilbert  Stuart  painted  Washington  in  such  a  way  that  Amer- 
icans should  feel  universal  admiration  for  the  Father  of  his 
Country.  Livy  in  writing  the  history  of  Rome  is  obviously 
trying  to  teach  his  readers  devotion  to  it. 

This  patriotic  sentiment  is  not  only  the  most  familiar  form 
of  history  with  a  moral  purpose,  but  it  has  lent  much  spirit  and 
interest  to  historical  writing.  Green's  "History  of  the  English 
People"  is  permeated  by  a  gentle  and  sincere  patriotism  that 
conciliates  his  readers  and  casts  a  glamour  over  the  whole  of 
English  History.  Thiers's  admiration  for  Napoleon  and  devo- 
tion to  France  have  infused  a  fire  into  his  "Consulate  and  Em- 
pire" that  have  led  to  their  constant  republication  in  France  and 
other  countries.  Treitschke  and  Sybel  have  given  a  genuine 
popular  defense  for  the  modern  Prussian  state  in  their  great 
histories  of  Germany  in  the  nineteenth  century. 

Patriotic  history,  when  mixed  with  certain  other  ingredients, 
forms  excellent  poetry.  Kipling  makes  his  two  English  children 
standing  on  a  Sussex  hillside  learn  their  history  from  the  fairy 
Puck  as  he  points  out  to  them  its  visible  marks  around  them. 


See  you  the  dimpled  track  that  runs, 

All  hollow  through  the  wheat? 
O  that  was  where  they  hauled  the  guns 

That  smote  King  Philip's  fleet. 

See  you  our  little  mill  that  clacks, 

So  busy  by  the  brook? 
She  has  ground  her  corn  and  paid  her  tax 

Ever  since  Domesday  Book. 

See  you  our  stilly  woods  of  oak, 

And  the  dread  ditch  beside? 
O  that  was  where  the  Saxons  broke, 

On  the  day  that  Harold  died. 
See  you  the  windy  levels  spread 

About  the  gates  of  Rye? 
O  that  was  where  the  Northmen  fled, 

When  Alfred's  ships  came  by. 

See  you  our  pastures  wide  and  lone, 

Where  the  red  oxen  browse? 
O  there  was  a  City  thronged  and  known, 

Ere  London  boasted  a  house. 

And  see  you,  after  rain,  the  trace 

Of  mound  and  ditch  and  wall? 
O  that  was 'a  Legion's  camping-place, 

When  Caesar  sailed  from  Gaul. 

And  see  you  marks  that  show  and  fade, 

Like  shadows  on  the  Downs? 
O  they  are  the  lines  the  Flint  Men  made, 

To  guard  their  wondrous  towns. 

Trackway  and  Camp  and  City  lost, 

Salt  marsh  where  now  is  corn, 
Old  Wars,  old  Peace,  old  Arts  that  cease, 

And  so  was  England  born! 

How  much  of  long-past  and  recently-past  history  is  re- 
flected in  the  present  poet-laureate's  fine  appeal  of  England  to 
Ireland : 

Spouse  whom  my  sword  in  the  olden  time  won  me, 

Winning  me  hatred  more  sharp  than  a  sword — 
Mother  of  children  who  hiss  at  or  shun  me, 

Curse  or  revile  me,  and  hold  me  abhorred — 
Heiress  of  anger  that  nothing  assuages, 

Mad  for  the  future  and  mad  for  the  past — 
Daughter  of  all  the  implacable  ages, 

Lo,  let  us  turn  and  be  lovers  at  last ! 


4 

Lovers  whom  tragical  sin  hath  made  equal, 

One  in  transgression  and  one  in  remorse, 
Bonds  may  be  severed,  but  what  were  the  sequel? 

Hardly  shall  amity  come  of  divorce. 
Let  the  dead  Past  have  a  royal  entombing, 

O'er  it  the  future  built  white  for  a  fane ! 
I  that  am  haughty  from  much  overcoming 

Sue  to  thee,  supplicate — nay,  is  it  vain? 

Hate  and  mistrust  are  the  children  of  blindness, — 

Could  we  but  see  one  another,  'twere  well ! 
Knowledge  is  sympathy,  charity,  kindness, 

Ignorance  only  is  maker  of  hell. 
Could  we  but  gaze  for  an  hour,  for  a  minute, 

Deep  in  each  other's  unfaltering  eyes, 
Love  were  begun — for  that  look  would  begin  it — 

Born  in  the  flash  of  a  mighty  surprise. 

History  no  doubt  can  be  written,  has  been  frequently 
written,  in  prose  as  lofty  as  poetry,  in  such  a  way  that  certain 
moral  or  religious  or  political  principles,  broad  and  fundamental, 
or  narrow  and  contentious,  are  brought  out.  In  the  vast  mass 
of  historical  facts  the  historian  will  naturally  find  those  that  he 
seeks,  and  he  may,  if  he  will,  arrange  his  materials  and  make 
moral  reflections  upon  them  in  accordance  with  his  beliefs  and 
preconceptions. 

But  this  ideal  costs  its  price.  The  historian  under  its  influ- 
ence feels  called  upon  to  make  ethical  judgments  of  actions  and 
of  men, — defending  or  condemning  historical  personages  and 
their  actions.  Men  of  the  past  are  thought  of  as  models  to  be 
followed  or  warnings  of  what  is  to  be  avoided,  or  at  least  as 
objects  of  admiration  or  dislike.  This  leads  to  the  habit  of 
ascribing  extreme  historical  importance  to  the  character  and 
work  of  individuals  and  correspondingly  little  influence  to  the 
general  conditions  of  the  time  or  to  the  great  mass  of  people. 
Good  and  bad  motives  can  be  ascribed. to  persons,  not  to  the 
conditions  of  civilization  that  surround  them;  certain  named 
persons  can  be  praised  or  blamed,  the  great  unnamed  masses 
cannot  be.  So  the  historian  dilates  on  the  psychological  and 
moral  characteristics  of  a  few  prominent  individuals  and  sup- 
poses them  to  have  had  great  freedom  of  action  and  an  un- 
bounded extent  of  influence.  Motley's  William  of  Orange, 


and  Philip  of  Spain,  Carlyle's  Robespierre  and  Cromwell, 
Froude's  Henry  VIII,  Macaulay's  William  III,  and  a  crowd 
of  lesser  heroes  of  lesser  historians  owe  much  of  their  conspicu- 
ous position  in  history  to  the  admiration  or  condemnation  of 
them  in  the  mind  of  their  historians ;  and  history  itself  comes  to 
be  looked  upon  as  the  acts  of  a  few  great  men  using  the  rest  of 
mankind  simply  as  their  instruments. 

But  the  greatest  price  we  have  to  pay  for  this  ethical  atti- 
tude toward  history  is  the  intense  subjectivity  it  gives  to  it. 
Everything  comes  to  the  reader  as  interpreted  by  the  historian. 
Everything  is  seen  through  the  medium  of  his  personality.  The 
facts  of  history  when  they  are  used  to  teach  a  moral  lesson  do 
not  reach  us  in  their  entirety,  nor  grouped  and  generalized 
according  to  their  internal  relations,  but  selected  and  arranged 
according  to  the  overmastering  ideal  in  the  mind  of  the  his- 
torian. The  reader  is  at  the  historian's  mercy.  The  same  set  of 
facts,  that  is  to  say  the  history  of  the  same  country  or  period, 
comes  to  us  as  a  Catholic,  a  Protestant  or  an  Anglican  history, 
according  to  the  lesson  that  the  historian  wants  to  teach.  We 
have  histories  of  the  French  Revolution  from  the  French,  the 
English  and  the  German, — from  the  republican  and  the  royalist 
point  of  view.  A  certain  series  of  events  will  appear  entirely 
different,  under  this  ideal,  according  as  the  person  who  recounts 
them  is  a  rationalist  or  a  devotee.  We  must  balance  Whig 
against  Tory,  Northerner  against  Southerner.  The  conflicts  of 
the  past  are  perpetuated  by  the  very  chroniclers  who  recount 
their  history.  Thus  history  sells  its  birthright  of  truth  for  a 
mess  of  the  pottage  of  partisanship.  If  the  function  of  history 
is  to  teach,  it  fulfils  it  but  ill  when  the  lesson  to  be  drawn  from 
it  depends  so  largely  on  the  interpreter. 

But  let  us  turn  to  another  ideal.  We  may  find  it  also  among 
the  ancients.  Phylarchus  is  described  by  a  contemporary  as 
"amazing  his  readers  by  a  series  of  thrilling  anecdotes,"  as, 
"studying  dramatic  propriety  like  a  writer  of  tragedy."  Livy 
speaks  of  the  new  historians  of  his  time  as  believing  that  they 
can  "by  their  skill  in  the  art  of  writing  improve  on  the  rudeness 
of  ancient  writers."  We  have  similar  modern  aphorisms.  "His- 
tory should  make  the  past  live  again."  "A  history  should  always 
be  an  epic."  This  is  a  literary  or  aesthetic  ideal.  Its  choice  of 


subject,  its  selection  of  material,  its  forms  of  arrangement  and 
statement  are  dominated  by  literary,  almost  by  artistic  feeling. 
History  is  looked  upon  as  a  branch  of  literature.  Just  as  the 
former  view  of  history  was  that  it  should  instruct,  so  this  is 
that  it  should  please.  Daunou,  in  his  Cours  d' etudes  historiques, 
delivered  at  the  College  de  France  seventy-five  or  eighty  years 
ago,  brings  out  clearly  this  view  of  history.  He  advises  the 
writer  of  history  to  read  modern  novels  as  examples.  He  says: 
"They  will  teach  the  method  of  giving  an  artistic  pose  to  per- 
sons and  events,  of  distributing  details,  of  skilfully  carrying  on 
the  thread  of  the  narrative,  of  interrupting  it,  of  resuming  it, 
of  sustaining  the  attention  and  provoking  the  curiosity  of  the 
reader."  In  as  far  as  the  historian  is  under  this  influence  he 
feels  the  same  intellectual  elevation,  the  same  creative  activity 
as  the  writer  of  a  literary  essay,  a  work  of  fiction,  a  poem.  When 
Motley,  for  instance,  in  his  "Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic,"  de- 
scribes the  scene  at  the  punishment  of  Ghent  by  the  Emperor 
Charles  V;  its  civic  officials  in  their  black  robes,  the  military 
bodies,  the  guildsmen  thronging  the  hall  and  the  populace  crowd- 
ing the  streets,  his  mind  reverts  to  another  great  epic  scene  where 

High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormuz  or  of  Ind, 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  east  with  richest  hand 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearls  and  gold, 
Satan  exalted  sat— 

and  he  closes  his  own  description  with  the  fine  parody,  "High 
on  his  throne,  with  the  Queen  Regent  at  his  side,  surrounded 
by  princes,  prelates  and  nobles,  guarded  by  his  archers  and 
halberdiers,  his  crown  on  his  head  and  his  sceptre  in  his  hand, 
the  Emperor,  exalted,  sat."  That  is  to  say,  Motley  is  writing  in 
much  the  same  spirit  as  Milton,  though,  of  course,  on  a  vastly 
lower  poetic  plane. 

Such  an  ideal  leads  to  the  selection  of  dramatic  periods  for 
treatment.  Froude  begins  his  history  with  the  fall  of  Wolsey, 
when  the  conflict  between  the  English  king  and  the  Roman 
Catholic  system  was  definitely  joined,  and  announces  that  it  is 
to  extend  to  the  death  of  Elizabeth.  But  when  Mary,  Queen 
of  Scots,  has  been  executed,  when  the  Invincible  Armada  has 
been  conquered,  and  the  great  contest  he  has  been  describing 


seems  to  be  settled,  his  dramatic  sense  tells  him  that  the  play, 
conceiving  his  period  of  English  history  as  a  play,  is  over. 
Therefore,  as  a  dramatist  rather  than  as  a  historian,  he  draws 
down  the  curtain,  closes  his  book,  and  leaves  the  narrative  of 
the  last  fifteen  troubled,  difficult  and  important  years  of  the 
period  he  had  announced  untold.  The  military  conquest  of 
Mexico  and  Peru  by  brilliant  Spanish  conquistador es  attracted 
its  historian  much  earlier  than  the  spread  of  civilized  settlement 
and  peaceful  development  over  the  interior  of  the  United  States. 
Periods  of  war  have  always  attracted  more  historians  than  have 
periods  of  peace. 

This  treatment  gives  to  history  the  charm  possessed  by 
every  work  of  art.  Vigor,  grace,  color,  life,  flourish  under  the 
dominion  of  the  literary  spirit  and  thrive  among  literary  asso- 
ciations. Macaulay's  fine  impressiveness,  the  picturesque  de- 
lineations of  Prescott  and  Irving,  the  grace  and  eloquence  of 
the  French  historians  of  the  early  nineteenth  century,  are  due 
for  the  most  part  to  the  prominence  of  the  literary  ideal  in  the 
minds  of  these  writers. 

But  accompanying  these  qualities  and,  unfortunately, 
almost  always  characterizing  the  literary  treatment  of  history,  is 
its  weak  hold  on  reality,  its  incautious  use  of  its  materials.  In 
as  far  as  a  historian  is  influenced  by  this  ideal,  he  is  thinking, 
in  reality,  first  of  his  reader,  only  secondarily  of  his  facts.  He 
is  striving  to  produce  an  aesthetic  effect,  not  to  elucidate  tne 
past.  Therefore  he  does  not  look  narrowly  at  what  he  finds  in 
his  contemporary  sources.  He  carelessly  misinterprets  them,  he 
neglects  much  that  is  there  but  which  is  not  suited  to  literary 
uses;  he  sometimes  finds  things  that  are  not  there  at  all.  His 
creative  imagination  is  apt  to  act  like  that  of  the  poet: 

As  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination. 

The  use  of  the  imagination  is  an  absolute  necessity  in  all 
intellectual  production,  but  it  is  also  the  most  dangerous  of  all 
foes  to  clear  and  exact  knowledge.  We  live  in  hereditary  servi- 


8 

tude  to  our  imagination.  Through  a  long  line  of  descent  it  has 
possessed  a  supremacy  against  which  the  thoughtful  man  must 
struggle  for  intellectual  freedom.  This  is  a  matter  of  evolution 
and  is  universal  in  its  action.  The  bird  or  the  rabbit  that  perceives 
a  dark  shadow  passing  over  it,  immediately  sees  or  thinks  it  sees 
the  spreading  wings,  the  curved  talons,  and  the  hungry  beak  of 
the  hawk  swooping  down  on  it,  as  it  cowers  close  among  the 
grass  or  leaves,  although  the  shadow  may  be  only  that  of  a 
passing  cloud.  Primitive  man  must  have  learned  to  spring  to 
shelter  at  many  a  harmless  crackling  among  the  bushes  that 
nevertheless  brought  into  his  mind  a  picture  of  some  hungry 
wild  beast,  or  else  we,  his  remote  descendants,  would  not  be  here. 
And  the  brain  that  we  have  inherited  from  him  has  not  forgotten 
its  old  trick  of  self-deception.  We,  like  he  did,  live  in  a  world 
of  self-created  ideas,  only  kept  measurably  close  to  reality  by 
the  most  rigorous  mental  habits.  The  historian  is  subject  to 
the  common  temptation;  so  in  the  mind  of  Motley  grows  up  the 
picture  of  an  imaginary  Philip  II,  a  cruel,  calculating,  malev- 
olent being,  sitting  in  his  study  at  Madrid,  holding  the  threads 
of  a  great  conspiracy  against  the  happiness  and  well-being  of 
the  people  of  half  of  Europe  and  all  of  America.  So  Livy  and 
Tacitus  and  a  crowd  of  other  historians,  like  the  poets  and  the 
moralists,  look  back  to  a  purely  imaginary  early  period  of  virtue 
and  honor  and  unselfishness.  So  our  historical  traditions  become 
full  of  extraordinarily  good  and  extraordinarily  bad  people; 
certain  periods  are  described  as  pre-eminently  happy  and  others 
as  unspeakably  miserable;  institutions  are  believed  to  have 
existed  which  would  have  been  destructive  to  the  human  race; 
historic  shadows  are  apt  to  fall  preternaturally  dark  and  the 
lights  to  glow  incredibly  bright.  Imagination  plays  a  brilliant 
but  a  deceptive  part  in  history. 

The  borderland  between  history  as  a  form  of  literature  and 
historical  fiction  is  a  shifting  and  an  uncertain  one.  Well  on 
one  side  of  the  boundary  we  have  fine  constructive  historical 
literature;  well  on  the  other,  we  have  admirable  historical 
novels;  but  between  the  two  there  is  a  debatable  land  where 
outlaws  continually  dwell, — some  of  the  "histories"  of  Thierry, 
Froude,  and  Thomas  Watson,  for  instance ;  some  of  the  "novels" 
of  Chateaubriand,  Georg  Ebers,  and  Miss  Muhlbach  and  their 


congeners, — exiled  from  the  more  orderly  regions  on  both  sides 
by  the  critics,  historical  or  literary,  who  represent  established 
rule  in  both  realms. 

There  are  still  other  historical  ideals.  One  man,  a  phil- 
osopher, says  that  the  proper  object  of  history  is  the  training 
of  the  time-concept;  that  is  to  say,  the  life  of  a  single  man  is  so 
short  that  it  is  only  by  considering  the  life  of  the  whole  human 
race  that  we  can  get  any  adequate  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the 
expression  "time."  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  more  than  one 
of  my  specialist  colleagues  in  this  faculty  looks  on  history  as  a 
sort  of  background  of  general  occurrences  and  conditions  on 
which  his  special  objects  of  interest  are  projected;  a  sort  of 
Greek  chorus  to  explain  and  comment,  while  the  development 
of  English  or  French  or  German  literature,  or  mathematics,  or 
political  economy,  or  chemistry,  or  philosophy,  occupies  the 
center  of  the  stage.  And  far  be  it  from  me  to  deny  the  name  of 
history  to  any  of  the  forms  of  writing  we  have  discussed.  His- 
tory is  not  a  definite  technical  term,  like  geometry,  or  chemistry, 
or  logic,  or  astronomy.  It  is  a  broad,  general  expression,  more 
nearly  analogous  to  the  words  "science"  or  "philosophy."  In 
actual  usage,  even  by  historians,  it  connotes  little  more  than  the 
fact  that  the  matters  under  consideration  have  occurred  in  the 
past,  rather  than  in  the  present.  There  are  not  merely  two  forms, 
good  history  and  bad  history.  There  may  be  many  types  of 
reasonably  good  history.  Nor  is  any  one  writer  entirely  under 
the  domination  of  any  one  historical  ideal;  several  may  exist 
coincidently  in  his  mind ;  he  may  at  different  times  be  influenced 
more  largely  by  one  or  another  conception  of  his  subject;  never- 
theless the  fact  remains  that  the  ethical,  the  literary  and  the 
specialist's  types  of  history  that  have  now  been  reviewed  have 
been  and  are  especially  widespread  and  influential. 

I  want  now  to  turn  to  another  ideal,  which  looks  at  history 
from  no  one  of  these  points  of  view ;  which  conceives  of  it 
neither  as  primarily  intended  to  give  instruction  nor  primarily  to 
give  pleasure ;  which  does  not  place  it  in  the  service  of  any  other 
particular  branch  of  knowledge,  but  allows  it  to  exist  for  its  own 
sake.  According  to  this  conception  of  history,  the  past  is  looked 
at  simply,  directly,  objectively;  it  is  conceived  of  as  merely  some- 
thing to  be  understood  and  explained. 


10 

Just  as  a  geologist  studies  the  physical  conformation  of  a 
country,  its  strata  and  its  fossils,  endeavors  to  understand  and 
then  to  describe  the  conditions  they  indicate;  just  as  the  astron- 
omer makes  his  observations  and  investigations  and  reaches  the 
results  of  his  study;  just  as  the  student  of  any  branch  of  knowl- 
edge approaches  his  subject,  so  the  historian  may  approach  the 
past  of  the  human  race,  study  what  mankind  has  done  and  said 
and  thought,  strive  to  understand,  strive  to  explain.  He  can 
look  upon  his  subject  as  simply  a  body  of  facts,  to  be  investi- 
gated and  described  for  their  own  sakes;  not  with  a  view  of 
drawing  a  lesson  from  them,  not  with  a  view  of  praising  or 
blaming  any  one,  not  with  a  view  of  so  choosing  and  putting 
the  facts  as  to  give  emotional  pleasure  to  the  reader, — not,  in 
fact,  with  any  ulterior  purpose  whatever;  but  simply  to  take 
human  history  as  his  object  of  study, — just  as  one  might  take 
any  other  group  of  phenomena. 

/  This  is  the  modern  scholar's  conception  of  history,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  ethical  or  the  literary  conception.  It  might  be 
called  the  scientific  method  of  treating  history.  The  scientific 
method  means  nothing  more  than  the  simple  method;  the  direct 
approach  to  a  subject,  seeking  knowledge  for  its  own  sake, 
without  ulterior  objects  or  ultimate  expectations  of  any  kind 
from  it,  using  accurate  methods  of  observation,  logical  pro- 
cesses of  classification,  trained  powers  of  comprehension  and 
explanation, — that  is  all  that  a  scientific  method  means, — and  it 
is  just  as  applicable  to  history  as  to  any  other  field  of  knowledge.^/ 

Such  an  answer  to  the  question,  what  is  history? — such  an 
historical  ideal,  has,  like  others,  its  own  rewards  and  its  own 
demands.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  in  the  first  place,  that  such 
historical  work  is  necessarily  a  thankless  or  an  unappreciated 
task.  More  than  fifty  years  ago  a  fellow-townsman  of  ours, 
Mr.  Lea,  took  up  the  study  of  the  history  of  mediaeval  law  and 
certain  mediaeval  and  early  modern  institutions,  especially  those 
connected  with  the  church.  He  is  still  at  work  in  that  field,  and 
at  this  very  moment,  in  all  probability,  his  fine  gray  head  is 
bending  over  the  proof  sheets  of  the  fourth  and  final  volume  of 
his  "History  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition."  He  had  from  the 
beginning  an  intense  desire  to  know,  and  an  open  mind.  He  felt 
no  attraction  to  polemical  and  secondary  discussions,  but  went 


II 

direct  to  the  raw  material  from  which  all  historical  knowledge 
must  be  constructed.  He  has  had  means  that  have  enabled  him 
to  gather  in  his  own  library  a  great  bo4y  of  such  sources  of 
history  as  are  published,  and  to  have  many  manuscripts  copied 
from  the  libraries  of  Europe ;  he  has  applied  keen  mental  powers 
and  infinite  industry  and  perseverance  to  these  materials,  and 
has  given  to  the  world  just  what  he  has  found.  This  has  been 
embodied  in  some  fifteen  volumes,  which  have  been  published 
from  time  to  time  during  the  half  century  of  his  labors.  They 
are  not,  of  course,  popular  history,  and  their  titles  are  not  such 
as  to  conciliate  popular  interest.  Nevertheless  many  thousand 
copies  and  repeated  editions  have  been  printed,  sold  and  read; 
they  are  to  be  found  in  every  public  and  many  private  libraries; 
every  scholar  interested  in  the  history  of  the  Middle  Ages  knows 
and  uses  them ;  every  professor  of  history  who  teaches  that 
period  requires  his  students  to  read  parts  of  them;  they  have 
been  translated  into  various  languages,  and  they  stand  now  as 
representing  the  principal  body  of  acquired  knowledge  in  that 
portion  of  the  history  of  the  world.  In  many  circles  in  many 
cities  of  Europe  you  might  name  over  the  list  of  Philadelphia's 
business  men,  lawyers  and  physicians,  and  find  that  not  a  name 
was  recognized.  The  first  gleam  of  recognition  to  give  comfort 
to  our  local  patriotism  would  come  with  the  mention  of  Henry 
C.  Lea. 

We  might  come  still  nearer  home  in  our  search  for  a  test 
of  appreciation  of  purely  scholarly  history.  In  our  midst,  I 
refer  to  the  head  of  my  own  department,  is  one  who,  when 
American  history  was  invariably  written  with  one  tendency  or 
another,  began  the  writing  of  it  absolutely  without  partisan- 
ship; who,  when  the  romantic  episodes  of  colonial  days  were 
familiar  but  the  period  since  the  Revolutionary  War  relatively 
unknown,  began  to  tell  the  great  story  of  our  national  exist- 
ence ;  who,  when  the  historical  material  used  was  only  that  found 
in  statutes,  legislative  proceedings,  public  correspondence  and 
other  such  official  documents,  examined  and  utilized  all  the 
sources  for  the  knowledge  of  our  past.  With  no  special  lesson 
to  teach  or  philosophy  to  maintain,  and  only  interested  to  find 
out  and  to  understand  and  to  explain,  he  entered  on  the  survey 
of  all  the  varied  interests  of  our  nation  since  we  have  been  a 


12 


nation,  and  in  this  spirit  has  written  the  "History  of  the  People 
of  the  United  States."  It  has  become  one  of  our  "standard"  his- 
tories. Some  thirty  thousand  copies  are  spread  through  the 
community,  to  exercise  with  similar  modern  works  a  widespread 
influence.  The  history  of  our  national  period  is  now  at  least  as 
well  known  as  that  of  the  colonial  period,  the  times  of  peace 
have  been  raised  in  general  estimation  to  at  least  as  high  a  level 
of  interest  as  those  of  war,  the  prevailing  attitude  toward  the 
study  of  the  first  century  of  our  national  history  is  one  of  non- 
partisanship,  there  is  no  longer  any  body  of  historical  material 
which  is  completely  neglected.  The  influence  of  such  work  on 
methods  of  study  has  been  even  deeper  than  its  addition  to  our 
knowledge.  Now  the  mere  post-graduate  student  of  American 
History  approaches  his  subject  from  a  direction,  and  uses  ma- 
terial that  twenty-five  years  ago  the  veteran  did  not  know.  The 
very  completeness  with  which  the  work  has  been  accomplished  is 
apt  to  blind  us  to  its  extent;  but  it  cannot  diminish  the  service 
performed  by,  or  the  honor  due  to,  the  pioneer  who  first  hewed 
out  a  way  for  himself  and  for  us.  It  is  not  therefore  the  admi- 
ration of  a  pupil  for  his  teacher,  it  is  not  loyalty  to  a  colleague, 
it  is  no  mere  attachment  to  a  friend,  that  leads  me  to  take  as 
an  example  of  not  unappreciated  and  yet  purely  objective  treat- 
ment of  history,  calm,  impersonal,  unprejudiced  as  to  persons 
or  as  to  parties,  dominated  by  the  single  object  of  making  clear 
the  past,  the  work  of  Professor  McMaster. 

Not  only  is  scholarly  historical  work  not  unappreciated  by 
others,  it  is  a  worthy  work  for  the  man  who  does  it.  It  calls 
for  all  the  mental  powers  with  which  he  may  be  endowed.  His- 
'torical  investigation  is  a  work  of  infinite  difficulty.  Not  only 
must  the  historian  spend  "laborious  days  and  wakeful  nights," 
but  he  must  bring  to  his  work  ability  and  training.  The  ma- 
terial with  which  he  has  to  work  is  enormous  in  amount,  diffi- 
cult to  collect,  difficult  to  classify,  difficult  to  interpret.  The 
geologist,  the  chemist,  the  biologist,  the  student  of  literature, 
all  make  their  own  observations.  The  facts  they  work  with  are 
what  they  have  themselves  seen  or  can  otherwise  test  by  direct 
means.  The  historical  facts  with  which  we  must  deal  come  to 
us,  for  the  most  part,  not  through  our  own  observations,  but  on 


13 

the  testimony  of  men  who  once  saw  or  heard  them  but  are  now 
long  dead.  We  must  weigh  and  measure  their  credibility,  their 
opportunity  and  their  ability  to  have  observed  correctly.  Our 
facts  often  come  to  us  clothed  in  dead  languages  and  obscure 
terms.  We  must  find  out  just  what  these  mean. 

No  power  to  put  ourselves  mentally  into  another's  place 
can  be  too  great  for  the  historian's  needs.  We  read  the  state- 
ments of  a  mediaeval  or  an  ancient  chronicler.  He  was  a  man 
of  another  age  than  our  own,  surrounded  by  institutions  which 
have  long  since  disappeared,  ruled  by  ideas  that  are  not  our 
ideas,  using  the  names  of  things  that  we  have  never  seen.  How 
shall  we  comprehend  and  interpret  what  he  tells  us?  Here  is 
the  need  for  the  historic  imagination ;  its  normal  use  is  in  under- 
standing and  interpreting  the  sources,  not  in  writing  the  final 
draught  of  the  narrative. 

No  keenness  of  mental  analysis  is  too  great  for  historical 
uses.  Historical  facts  are  often  the  actions,  the  words,  the  very 
thoughts  and  motives  of  men,  and  we  must  make  a  psychological 
judgment  of  them.  No  moral  powers,  no  breadth  of  sympathy, 
no  capacity  for  entering  into  the  feelings  as  well  as  the  thoughts 
of  other  men  comes  amiss.  For  the  scholarly  historian  must 
understand,  and  in  a  certain  sense  take  part  with  both  sides  of 
all  the  controversies  of  the  past.  He  must  appreciate  the  horror 
of  the  orthodox  for  heresy  and  he  must  sympathize  with  the 
heretic  who  cannot  accept  the  teachings  of  those  in  authority. 
He  must  enter  into  the  slaveholder's  point  of  view,  and  he  must 
comprehend  the  antagonism  to  slavery  of  the  abolitionist.  He 
must  rise  above  the  controversial  elements  in  these  conflicts  and 
see  why  each  party  felt  as  it  did.  This  can  only  be  done  by 
adding  to  a  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  a  genuine  sym- 
pathetic comprehension  of  the  feelings  or  belief  of  each  side.  A 
certain  largeness  of  view  is  requisite  for  a  study  which  is  con- 
cerned with  the  doings  of  all  mankind  and  with  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  all  representatives  of  our  race. 

No  power  over  our  glorious  mother  tongue  can  be  spared 
by  the  scientific  historian.  Perfect  clarity  in  stating  the  results 
of  his  investigations,  the  choice  of  the  right  word  to  represent 
every  shade  of  human  experience  in  the  past,  force  to  describe 
past  conditions,  and  even  eloquence  to  describe  past  events,  all 


can  be  well  utilized,  so  far  as  gifts  or  training  put  them  into 
the  possession  of  the  historian.  This,  you  may  say,  brings  us 
back  to  history  as  a  form  of  literature.  Far  from  it.  The 
question  with  which  we  have  been  concerned  is  of  ideals,  not  of 
instruments.  What  I  am  now  pleading  for  is  literary  power  and 
effectiveness  as  a  means,  not  as  an  end;  as  a  tool  in  the  hands 
of  the  scholarly  historian,  not  as  a  final  object  to  be  sought  for 
for  its  own  sake.  So  long  as  our  historical  ideal  remains  the 
simple  and  accurate  discovery  and  statement  of  what  has  occurred 
in  the  past,  the  use  of  all  the  resources  of  our  language  is  noth- 
ing more  than  a  wise  utilization  of  all  available  means  to  that  end. 
So  there  need  be  no  fear  that  this  historical  ideal  will  not 
exercise  all  the  powers  that  can  be  brought  into  its  service. 
Moreover,  it  has  its  own  exhilaration  and  charm.  The  scientific 
writer  of  history  builds  no  Gothic  cathedral,  full  of  irregulari- 
ties and  sugge"stiveness,  aspiring  arches,  niches  filled  with  sacred 
or  grotesque  figures,  and  aisles  dim  with  religious  light, — that 
is  work  for  the  literary  historian.  But  he  builds  a  classic  tem- 
ple: simple,  severe,  symmetrical  in  its  lines,  surrounded  by  the 
clear,  bright  light  of  truth,  pervaded  by  the  spirit  of  modera- 
tion. Every  historical  fact  is  a  stone  hewn  from  the  quarry  of 
past  records;  it  must  be  solid  and  square  and  even-hued — an 
ascertained  fact.  Whether  it  is  p  deed,  a  word,  a  motive,  a 
custom,  a  condition, — it  must  haVe  really  existed  in  the  past. 
And  whether  the  historian  is  describing  the  life  of  some  person; 
or  the  history  of  some  nation,  a  short  period  of  time,  or  a  single 
aspect  of  the  history  of  some  period,  the  discovery  of  a  country, 
the  foundation  of  a  commonwealth,  or  the  progress  of  a  revo- 
lution, or  it  may  be  only  the  formation  of  some  treaty,  or  the 
inception  of  some  war — he  is  still  a  builder.  He  must  examine 
all  his  materials ;  he  must  know  all  the  facts  which  can  be  ascer- 
tained concerning  his  subject;  he  must  select  those  which  are 
available  for  his  purpose,  those  which  really  help  to  explain  his 
subject;  and  then  he  must  write  his  history,  erect  his  structure, 
build  his  temple,  with  what  skill  he  may.  His  design  already 
exists,  the  events  have  actually  occurred,  the  past  has  really 
been — his  task  is  to  approach  as  near  to  the  design  as  he  pos- 
sibly can. 


15 

Such  is  the  ideal  of  history,  such  is  that  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion with  which  we  began,  that  I  should  like  to  submit  to  you 
as  the  worthiest — the  attitude  toward  history  that  it  is  simply  a 
body  of  material  to  be  studied,  understood  and  described,  exactly 
as  the  biologist  has  his  material,  the  chemist  his,  the  mathe- 
matician his ;  except  that  it  is  infinitely  more  complex,  more  diffi- 
cult, more  fascinating  than  any. 

I  would  suggest  that  this  view  of  history  is  especially 
suited  to  the  purlieus  of  a  great  university,  where  each  field  of 
human  knowledge  and  interest  has  its  devotees,  animated  by 
just  the  same  spirit,  dominated  by  just  the  same  ideal.  I  would 
suggest  that  it  is  especially  suited  to  such  a  university  as  this, 
founded  without  political,  religious  or  social  bias;  nurtured  in 
freedom  from  the  control  of  any  party  or  sect ;  at  no  time  failing 
entirely  to  hold  up  the  standard  of  human  culture  for  its  own 
sake;  at  the  present  time  granting  to  its  professors  and  students 
perfect  liberty  to  investigate  and  declare  the  results  of  their 
investigations,  to  seek  and  to  state  the  truth  as  they  believe  they 
have  discovered  it.  I  would  suggest  that  this  attitude  toward 
history  should  especially  appeal  to  post-graduate  students.  If 
an  objective,  direct,  scientific  habit  of  looking  at  one's  work  is 
once  attained  it  is  not  easily  lost.  It  will  remain  a  solid  founda- 
tion under  the  feet  during  all  subsequent  floods  of  reading, 
writing  and  controversy ;  a  man  or  woman  who  has  once  done  a 
piece  of  scientific  work  that  is  absolutely  impregnable  to  as- 
saults of  criticism  on  its  methods  and  its  material,  may  after- 
ward safely  add  to  his  later  work  all  the  insight,  all  the  powers 
of  interpretation,  all  the  excellences  of  language,  that  training 
and  the  experiences  of  life  may  bring  to  him.  First  critical 
study,  then  a  scientific  monograph,  and  then,  if  the  fates  allow, 
a  great  history. 

You  may  say  that  to  take  away  from  the  writing  of  history 
ethical  and  patriotic  and  political  teaching  as  objects,  and  to 
depose  it  from  its  position  as  a  form  of  pure  literature,  is  to 
give  it  too  humble  a  role  to  play,  that  the  scholarly  historian  is 
made  too  lowly  and  too  meek  in  his  claims.  But  remember  the 
beatitude,  "Blessed  are  the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit  the 
earth."  The  earth!  What  better  inheritance  could  the  his- 


i6 

torian  wish?  The  earth  with  all  its  ancient  nations,  with  all  its 
crowding  memories,  with  all  the  story  of  the  human  race  that  has 
been  lived  upon  it.  The  historian  may  not,  like  the  poet  or  the 
philosopher,  rise  to  the  heavens  or  deal  with  the  eternities,  but 
he  can  well  be  satisfied  to  trace  the  fortunes  of  humanity,  with 
its  joys  and  sufferings,  its  conflicts,  its  failures,  its  attainments; 
with  all  its  keen  interest, — because  it  is,  after  all,  our  common 
humanity. 


14  DAY  USE 

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LOAN  DEPT. 


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